


I Was Made To Love Only You

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Connor: Become Human [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creampie, Cunnlingus, Emotions, F/M, Poor attempts at humor, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Sex, deviant rk900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: Connor releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been capable of holding, and nods. He takes the cleaning rag back, gently and precisely dabbing it over her. When he’s finished, he throws the rag in the trash, and scoops (Name) into his arms. She doesn’t say anything else for the remainder of the night, but he’s content, and considering the sins he committed in his previous iteration, he supposes that’s the best he can hope for.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Connor/Reader, Upgraded Connor/Reader - Relationship
Series: Connor: Become Human [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1109325
Comments: 1
Kudos: 164





	I Was Made To Love Only You

**Author's Note:**

> I’M DONE WRITING DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN FANFICTION AFTER THIS. THIS SERIES HAS STOLEN YEARS OF MY LIFE, AND I’VE BEEN HOLDING ONTO THIS SMUT FOR LIKE SEVEN MONTHS BEFORE I COULD PUBLISH IT.

When she first asks him to make love to her, they’re curled up on her couch, per usual. These days, Connor finds himself in her house more often than not. After all, the only time he finds any semblance of solace is in her home, her head atop his chest, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. (Name) serves as more than a distraction; she’s the light at the end of the tunnel, his only reason to endure what he endures on a daily basis.

Connor keeps his touch as platonic as he possibly can, given their proximity during most of their interactions, so it surprises him when (Name) peers up at him and asks that defining question. It takes his processors more time than he’d like to admit to comprehend the question, his left hand dropping the strand of her hair he’d been absentmindedly fiddling with. 

“I-what?” is all he can come up with, and the amused smile he loves so much on her comes back in all its glory. “While I have the requisite functions, that’s not what I was built for.” He manages to stammer out. His processors haphazardly search the internet for pointers on the subject of making love and he hurriedly scans through them, hoping to whatever benevolent god that she would bear with him. If he were human, Connor was certain he’d be sweating. 

“Connor,” she says, and the expression on her face is just short of exasperated. “I didn’t ask if you were built for it, I asked if you wanted to make love to me.”

Truth be told, Connor never really considered the option. He was so certain that (Name) only saw him as a replacement for the RK800 that he’d never allowed himself the thought, sure of the fact that it would only leave more heartache in its stead. Even now, he sees himself as inferior to the cyborg she’d loved. 

He must look confused, because she flips herself onto her stomach, chest to chest with him. Her weight is familiar, although negligible. Connor was built to withstand literal tons of abuse, and the measly amount she weighs feels more like a droplet of water in the ocean than an actual burden. If anything, it anchors him, and when her lips brush against his, it’s all he can do to keep still. 

She’s beautiful like this, hair framing her face as she pulls away from him. She looks so different from the tear stained woman he’d seen all those months ago, still nursing her wounds with a mixture of Grey Goose and Don Patron. Wracked with the loss of her father figure, stung from the betrayal of the RK800, it was no wonder she found solace in alcohol and sleep. Connor’s lips purse, almost by habit, and he tugs her head down to his, catching her lips again. Better to nip those thoughts in the bud, before they become all he can think about. 

He can feel her heartbeat when they’re this close, can feel and analyze what makes her tick. Most of all, he can feel what makes her alive, what separates her from him. She doesn’t need an artificial thirium pump to control her bodily functions. When they’re this close, a hair’s breadth away, Connor genuinely understands what it is like to be human. This is Connor’s heaven. 

Her cheeks are flushed already, and he supposes his own visage mirrors hers. Connor isn’t sure who moves first, but all of a sudden, (Name)’s mouth is against his again, lips moving in tandem as she works his shirt off. His stupid jacket’s in the way, and he shrugs it off impatiently. His hands make their way up her shirt, resting on her hips, almost as if he’s afraid to go any further. She shifts his hands upwards, a silent go-ahead that quickens Connor’s artificial pulse and compels him to tug her shirt over her head. 

(Name) is soft. It’s one of the first things Connor noticed about her, even as the RK800. Back then, he’d been so single-minded in his task of defeating Markus that he’d never allowed himself to dwell on that fact. On the odd occasion that their hands would brush when he handed her paperwork, he was sure to maintain a professional distance away from her. Now, it’s all he can focus on, the malleability of her skin, the gentle divots of her curves, and he briefly wonders why he hadn’t done this earlier.

“You know,” says (Name), and the glint of mischief in her eyes speaks volumes to Connor. “You can do more than just admire the goods.” 

It baffles him, to say the least, how confident (Name) is in this situation. Her own hands are snaking down his chest, unbuttoning the crisp white shirt to reveal smooth skin. Her breath hitches, and he follows her gaze.

He knows what she’s thinking. His creators had designed him as attractively as possible, despite his purpose as a police investigator, rather than a sexbot at the Eden Club. Nonetheless, here he was: built like a gym rat without the cockiness. Connor follows her gaze even lower, and their eyes rest upon his groin. There’s a sizeable bulge there, something that Connor can’t explain either, and when her hands brush tentatively against it, Connor jerks.

The sensation is inexplicable. Every synapse fires, and a breathless moan forces its way out of his mouth. (Name)’s gaze snaps to meet his, and a brief, incorrigible expression flickers across her face before a mischievous grin replaces it. 

Connor knows that she’d prefer to do this with the RK800. It’s evident in the way her face pales whenever new skin is revealed to her. With every layer she divests of Connor, the layers of her emotions are slowly revealed, until nothing more but the raw wound of the RK800’s betrayal remains. Connor knows, so he helps her out of her clothes, out of the pain she’s so firmly rooted herself in. They’re both using each other, just for different things. She wants the old version, and all he wants is for her to want him. 

When she’s bare for him, he gently pushes her against the brown leather of her couch, poised above her. One hand gently makes its way down her body, stopping only at the places he knows will bring her pleasure. Fingers tweak her nipples, the artificial calluses designed to feel like a human touch, and the suddenness of it provokes a soft moan from (Name)’s lips. Connor’s lips quirk up involuntarily in a soft smile. It feels good, to finally be the cause of an emotion other than unmitigated sorrow, and he leans down to smother the unattended nipple with his mouth. 

He is a machine, built only to ensure the destruction of his own kind, to never feel the things humans do, but when he’s nudging (Name)’s legs open, face to face with her hot, dripping center, he can’t help but wonder just how much of his deviancy is programmed into him. It takes him a while to figure out what she likes, but Connor is nothing if not persistent, and he brings her to her end with a combination of his fingers and tongue. Only when a trembling hand reaches down and gently pushes his head away does Connor relent, moving so that he can take in her sweaty, overstimulated form. 

“J-Jesus, Connor,” (Name) says, once she catches her breath. “Where’d you learn that? Christ, I don’t see you devouring crime scene fluid like that.”

The quip gets a laugh from Connor, deep and rich. “That’s because crime scene fluid doesn’t taste as good as you,” he responds, and he takes more than a little joy at the flush.

Her hands rest on his belt buckle, deft fingers making quick work of the pants. She tugs down, and is met with the sight of his erect cock, pulsing and dripping a slot of precum at the tip. Connor looks away, abashed, only to have her soft hand placed on his cheek, forcing his gaze towards her.

“No underwear?” 

“Never had a need for it, nobody’s undressing me when you’re a police android.”

(Name) nods, but her hand is already wandering, and at the sensation of her gripping his cock, Connor throws his head back. She strokes it a couple of times, testing the feel of the turgid flesh against her soft skin, and it nearly drives Connor mad. He pushes her away gently, not wanting her in such a subservient position. 

He positions himself on top of her, lining himself up with her slit. Connor doesn’t want to hurt her-he never does, so goes slowly, feeding himself inch by inch until he’s completely enveloped in her warmth. When he’s fully sheathed, he stops, waits for her to adjust, and only moves when she indicates she’s ready, which is by a breathy whisper of “more” into his ear.

It’s more than he’s ever experienced in his entire life. Every nerve fires, and his sensor flashes a constant yellow, frying his servers and thoughts as he is consumed by (Name) and (Name) alone. Connor starts a tentative rhythm, hard enough to make (Name) cry out with every thrust, but for once, they are pleasured cries and not distraught ones.

“God, (Name),” he lets out. “You feel so good-fuck, I never want to be away from you ever.” He takes one of her legs and props it on his shoulder, driving deeper and deeper with each thrust. “I-I was made to love only you, just you.”

When he feels her walls convulse, Connor dips a hand down to her clit, gently rubbing at it until she comes undone. Surprisingly, he feels himself getting closer and closer to what he can only assume is orgasm. He pushed onwards, watching (Name)’s facial expressions for any expression of pain. It only takes a couple thrusts more for him to reach his end, spilling the thirium into her.

Connor tries not to stare at his spend dribbling from her once he parts, instead making his way to the kitchen to retrieve a clean rag to clean her with. More than anything, he’s filled with regret for being the replacement RK800, for allowing her to continue this lurid fantasy of his predecessor ever loving her back, just so he could play the role of Prince Charming.

When he returns, butt naked, (Name) is sitting up, her hair splayed across her back as she watches Connor warily, as if he were an intruder in her home. 

“I-I’m sorry,” is what comes out of his mouth first, and he awkwardly hands her the cleaning rag, averting eye contact all the while.

He sees her visibly swallow, but she fixes him with a piercing gaze that roots him to the ground. She beckons towards him, and like an obedient dog, he follows, sitting next to her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Connor,” whispers (Name). Her tone is soft, almost inaudible. “Connor, I love you. I always have. Whether you’re in this form or the RK800, you’re still you, that doe-eyed android that stole my heart.”

Connor releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been capable of holding, and nods. He takes the cleaning rag back, gently and precisely dabbing it over her. When he’s finished, he throws the rag in the trash, and scoops (Name) into his arms. She doesn’t say anything else for the remainder of the night, but he’s content, and considering the sins he committed in his previous iteration, he supposes that’s the best he can hope for.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
